


Ephemeral

by dinoburger



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Body Horror, Drug Use, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 05:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18046745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinoburger/pseuds/dinoburger
Summary: Olan lives only for pleasure, but finds himself reflecting on his recent past, his encounter with Brad Armstrong.





	Ephemeral

**Author's Note:**

> it's a pretty mild fic in terms of content, but as with practically all Lisa stuff it is kinda heavy in its own way
> 
> I just needed something focussing on Olan because I love him

Olan tossed the pill into his mouth and took a long swig from the bottle, sighing in satisfaction. Not a regular joy user, personally, but it changed things up from time to time.

He needed a little extra something today.

The landscape outside the bar was quickly becoming more bodies and monsters than life, bathing in the midday sun. Ephemeral, the world itself evaporating.

This was why he’d resolved to spend his life in the most pleasurable way possible, comfortably drunk. That's the way he'd always lived.

He lived and loved and fought, all for the pleasure of it. A true hedonist.

And in the spaces in between he had his archery to keep his mind away from any place where less pleasant thoughts may stir. If he had his bow in his hands and a target to aim at, he was at peace.

Past lives were behind him now.

He'd come home that fateful day after the flash and hadn't paid much mind to the absence, letting himself dream up plenty of reasons why his family was gone. Then he thought, maybe she'd left him after all, even with their daughters' homework still on the living room table and glasses of water, everything still in place and unpacked.

It took him a while to get a hold on the situation.

Was he disappointed? Was he relieved? Did it matter? No choice but to keep going anyway.

Then there was this and that. Olan perfected his art, hiding and retreating as suited, drifted through swathes of men to entertain with his skill and leaving them to die. Rinse and repeat.

Brad seemed to understand that. Olan liked him, more than most men. 

Brad was a joy addict who cared very little about the majority of things, the lives of other men, any particular commitment. People only mattered to him as much as they were worth to his rampage.

Olan really liked that.

The singular thing that brought light into those hard, dark old eyes was the object of Brad’s quest. Whenever they seemed to be getting closer he came to life, animated, almost hopeful. Whenever they were set back he'd grit his teeth and double down, determined.

Olan didn't quite understand, but observing his drive was an interesting spectacle in itself. It wasn’t like the lust that drove others towards that goal. Brad wasn’t the horny type anyway, they were the same that way.

Still, he didn’t get it. He was missing something.

And then he learned, that girl was his daughter.

There was a pulse behind his eyes, a throb of red. Every vein visible for a fraction of a second before his sight faded back in.

Olan shook his head, he tasted bile. What was he just thinking about...?

Brad. The girl. His daughter. That raw devotion, that filled him with life. Olan swallowed bitterly.

How had he never seen that? He was a father himself. Or he had been, before.

Had he never been that devoted, for an instance? Was there no single, however-brief moment when he’d felt that way? Nothing came to him. 

Somehow knowing made him that much harder to understand.

That life was past him, Olan always told himself. The moment he thought his wife had left for good, far too soon, he threw his wedding ring into the bushes. He’d lived that time in a dream, wandering through their relationship like an idle observer, and accepted its passing with ease.

He’d watched their children grow up in much the same way, ever self-absorbed.

He took another swig of liquor, savoured the burn, took off his hat and used it to fan himself as broad daylight poured over him. Much the same, he’d been ready to move on from Brad too in his recent past. Their paths had simply slipped away from one another, life went on.

Because Brad… had something to live for. Something more than himself.

Something Olan couldn’t find, no matter how he reached for it. He simply lost the will.

Clouds rolled gently over the vast, open sky above.

He’d move on, like always. He couldn’t grieve. Grieving went against everything he’d ever been.

He didn’t deserve it. 

Olan jerked into a sudden cough, dark red goo splattering into his hand. He observed it. He observed the way his bare abdomen was bulging out strangely.

He took the bottle into his blood slicked hand again, arm trembling now, and brought it to his lips. He drank down a mouthful of blood and alcohol.

Funny old world.

The heat swimming around inside him wasn’t just coming from the liquor anymore, he let it buzz around in a stupor, rocking back and forth in his emptying head. 

Warm and dizzy and empty and nice.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
